


When Forever Ends

by ArgentSleeper



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Future, Angst, Apocalypse, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-11
Updated: 2016-03-11
Packaged: 2018-05-26 04:19:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6223612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArgentSleeper/pseuds/ArgentSleeper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It wouldn't have mattered how long Merlin had to prepare.  Letting go is never easy, even after thousands of years.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When Forever Ends

**Author's Note:**

> First fic for the Merlin Angst Off!
> 
> Prompt: [Photo](http://ic.pics.livejournal.com/5leggedcricket/74271064/944/944_900.jpg)  
> POV: Either  
> MCD: Either  
> Time: Other

In the middle of the room was a table. Merlin had sat there a thousand times, to share meals, to read books, just to talk. It was rough hewn, but the legs were steady, the surface mostly flat. Merlin’s father had made that table. He had made most of the things in the small hut, preparing for the life he’d known deep down he could only dream of. On one side of the table was a long bench and on the other a chair.

His mother had loved that chair. Hers was the only household in all of Ealdor to have one. They took too much time to create compared to a simple bench, and carpenters had far too many other duties to waste their energy on a single object. But Balinor had insisted, whittling the parts each night as they sat together by the fire. Hunith had held little Merlin in that chair night after night. Then he got older and “too old” to be coddled like a _baby._

Unless there was a thunderstorm, and then no amount of aging would stop him from sprinting to the other side of the hut and into his mother’s bed. The threadbare blanket had lost some of its colour no matter how hard Merlin tried, and there was no fixing the lumps in the mattress. The frame was just high enough off the floor for a little boy to crawl under when playing hide and seek. Until he left for Camelot, there had been a pile of blankets beside it every night where he slept, a barrier between his mother and anyone who might wish to harm her.

If Merlin tried hard, he could still see her in front of him. His mother bent over the fire, tending to a large pot of stew. Carefully she ladled out a bowlful and set it on the table, then another at the place across from her. She settled herself in her chair. He didn’t step forward to join her. He couldn’t. She was just a memory, insubstantial as a ghost.

“Merlin?”

The voice wasn’t his mother’s, but Merlin wasn’t surprised to hear it. He kept his eyes on Hunith, but held a hand out behind him seeking comfort. He got it immediately, a warm hand clasping his and drawing him into an embrace, back to chest. Merlin leaned into the hold, only now noticing how much he trembled.

“We have to go, love,” Arthur murmured into his ear. “Father is holding the ship for us, but they can’t wait long.”

“I failed,” Merlin’s soft voice cracked on the words, and he clung tighter to Arthur. “I read every book I could find, I consulted experts and amateurs and charlatans. I even used the horn of Cathbad to summon Kilgharrah for help. But I couldn’t do it. I just couldn’t.”

Every part of him ached to weep right there in Arthur’s arms, but he’d run out of tears a long time ago. Now he was just numb. The truth was the world had come to its end, the earth no longer habitable. The populace was fleeing to space, and everything left behind would be destroyed.

To the rest of the world, this was nothing. They’d known for three generations this day would come, and had lived their lives accordingly, not accruing too many belongings and avoiding getting attached to any of them.

But Merlin had been here for 2400 years. He had given up entire lives every time he had to reinvent himself. He’d long learned how to own things without caring about them, how to make friends and let them go without breaking his heart. But he hadn’t always. At the very beginning of his life he’d had a home and a mother and a lover. Until now he’d been able to hold onto them all in some way. Arthur had returned sometime around the 20th century, and his home and the memory of his mother had been magically preserved and hidden from sight.

“This is all I have left of her.” Apparently he had a few more tears to left to shed after all. “I can’t leave her. I can’t.”

Arthur had returned. So had Gwaine and Morgana, Gwen and Gaius and even Uther and Igraine, all of them but Arthur living normal lives before dying and coming back again a decade or so later. Merlin had waited, had searched the entire globe a hundred times, but he’d never once found his mother. It was like without him to birth, destiny decided she was no longer needed.

Except Merlin needed her. More than air or water. Sometimes even more than Arthur. It wasn’t fair.

Arthur kissed his temple. “You’ll always have her.”

“If you say she’ll be in my heart, I might have to hit you.”

“I wasn’t,” he promised. “I was going to say in your magic. Maybe it won’t be the same, maybe it’ll never even come close, but I have feeling your magic will always bring her back to you when you need her.”

Merlin twisted around and buried his face in Arthur’s chest, breathing in deep to stop the sobs that were building up in his heart. “I’m going to need you to drag me out of here, please.”

“Take another minute.”

If he had a lifetime of minutes it still wouldn’t be enough. Merlin remembered every time he’d played with his wooden horse by the fire, every time he’d scraped his knees running around the table like a fiend. Every time his mother had tucked him in and sung him to sleep, safe and secure in the naïve assumption of a child that they would always have each other.

Merlin lost the battle with his tears and wept as Arthur transported them to the airstrip. The other passengers kindly turned away, leaving him to his grief as Arthur buckled him in, never letting go of his hand.

“Do you want me to call for medical?” he asked softly. “They can give you something to help you relax while we fly.”

“I- I think that might be best.” Merlin couldn’t guarantee he wouldn’t rip the safety restraints off himself with magic and flee the ship, cowering in his mother’s home and waiting for the end. He was immortal; the atmospheric changes probably wouldn’t even hurt him.

But Arthur wasn’t, and if Merlin stayed, Arthur would try to as well. And if Arthur was killed again, he could never return.

Arthur flagged down the stewardess, who sent for one of the ship’s doctors. Merlin closed his eyes and let Arthur’s attempts at soothing wash over him. “You can have a nice rest, love. I’ll wake you when we get to there. I’m sure several others will be doing the–” His words cut off abruptly, and he made a sound like he’d just swallowed his tongue.

“How can I help…”

Merlin didn’t dare open his eyes, terrified to break the spell. For it had to be a spell, his magic reacting just as Arthur had said it would.

Then a small, warm, painfully familiar hand touched his cheek, and he had to look, to prove to himself this was nothing more than a dream…

“Mother.”


End file.
